This Week in Word of the Day 2-10-2013
dyslogistic \dis-luh-JIS-tik\, adjective:
conveying disapproval or censure; not complimentary or eulogistic.
The fever hit Edward at the height of love, as it always did. A panic, a desperate urge to regain control of his life, rip it from the happiness that seemed so pure that it must be a lie. The relationship severed quick and sudden, like the unexpected puff of a silencer from an assassin passing through the crowd. His lover had no time to argue, no time to even react as Edward passed into the mist without another word. Within a week, the fever passed and he realized what he’d done, but no amount of backtracking or groveling would stitch together the fatal wound he’d dealt. A series of cordial, but dyslogistic emails passed between them, replacing panic with the shame that Edward was too old to be so foolishly naive about matters of his own heart.
epexegesis \ep-ek-si-JEE-sis\, noun:
1. the addition of a word or words to explain a preceding word or sentence.
2. the word or words so added.
Despite his mother’s stern protests, James chased his dream of crafting epexegesis footnotes for literary classics such as “The Lord of the Rings” and “Sense and Sensibility”. He was at his happiest when he lived in a small, one bedroom apartment in Italy, hardly able to afford two meals a day while pouring over the Dead Sea Scrolls. Never particularly interested in creating prose or traditional academic writing, he instead saw his chosen field as a saintly duty, anonymously whispering into the ears of the reader, guiding them through some of the most wondrous literary worlds ever created.
feuilleton \FOI-i-tn\, noun:
1. a part of a European newspaper devoted to light literature, fiction, criticism, etc.
2. an item printed in the feuilleton.
The staff of the local feuilleton scurried to the window to steal a glimpse of the old man puttering down the street. His wrinkled scalp barely possessing the life to cling to the thin white hair sprouting out and waving wildly with the wind. His clothes wrinkled and misbuttoned, untucked awkwardly on the left side, a general state of dishevel from a man doing the best he could on his own.
He held a thin, brown envelope containing the latest installment of a love letter submitted in parts, once a month to the paper for the past thirty years. The old man was nameless, he would not talk to anyone at the paper, he would simply drop the envelope and retreat back into obscurity.
But the letter, the lush opus of longing and regret, would be read greedily by every staff member. It would pass from desk to desk. Women would brush away tears, the men would sigh, then chuckle uncomfortably.
At the end of the day, the letter would be placed in a special file cabinet reserved for the old man’s growing masterpiece. Newspaper guidelines dictated that the feuilleton could not publish anonymous submissions.
gastronomy \ga-STRON-uh-mee\, noun:
1. the art or science of good eating.
2. a style of cooking or eating.
Kathy constructed a shell early in her life, an impenetrable silence that insulated her from a parade of horrors she endured throughout her childhood.
She escaped and grew. She married and conceived children, but no amount of love could pierce the shell. Her children hardly knew her, her husband was often just a roommate, but through gastronomy she provided a glimpse of what she felt deep inside. Hours spent researching, exploring, and laboring every week produced dish after dish of culinary genius. And every creation was a hesitant whisper of “I do love you.”
hent \hent\, verb:
to seize.
They met every night, just after their parents settled in to bed and couldn’t hear them slipping out windows. Barry and Mary both kept backpacks stocked with clothes, food, water, playing cards, everything a pair of eight year olds would need to survive alone on the road. They sat on the curb in the dim moonlight, not talking, but watching the traffic pass on the distant highway.
Barry never asked why, which was fine since Mary wouldn’t have been able to explain anyway. She just depended on the ceremony desperately. She knew that if she didn’t see Barry, she would never be able to survive what waited at home. One day they would meet at the curb and they would keep on walking. Barry would leave without a word and they would be happy and safe. Maybe they could live in Hollywood and see movie stars.*
*And, the day she emerged, a purple mouse swelling beneath her right eye, a trickle of blood dripping from the edge of her lips, he hented his beloved and flew with her to the stars!**
** Forgot to put the word in the original sentence.
irrefrangible \ir-i-FRAN-juh-buhl\, adjective:
1. not to be broken or violated; inviolable: an irrefrangible rule of etiquette.
2. incapable of being refracted.
An irrefrangible rule of the weekly golf outings was they never talked about her, the greatest love of both men’s lives. The were close friends before, they were close friends after, but during that ten year stretch, the woman swept into their lives and carved out a path of destruction that severed their bond.
There was no sense talking of who loved her most and certainly not about who she hurt the worst. She was a beautiful diamond that beamed too bright for any man to remain sane around her.
It wasn’t her fault really. This was their unspoken agreement.
After the final hole and a few silent beers at the clubhouse, they stopped by the cemetery to drop off stemless roses at her tombstone.
Jacobin \JAK-uh-bin\, noun:
1. an extreme radical, especially in politics.
2. (in the French Revolution) a member of a radical society or club of revolutionaries that promoted the Reign of Terror and other extreme measures, active chiefly from 1789 to 1794: so called from the Dominican convent in Paris, where they originally met.
3. a Dominican friar.
4. (lowercase) one of a fancy breed of domestic pigeons having neck feathers that hang over the head like a hood.
Fervor among the remaining Jacobins waned as core members went off to fight with Napoleon, found gainful employment, or grew bored of the tiresome, blood-thirsty meetings. Gerard continued showing up week after week. He wasn’t sure why, aside from the nagging guilt that someone really needs to take minutes and they expected him to bring baguettes. They never thanked him anymore, but he knew no one else would and then they would be hungry, grumpy, and likely to riot.
He broached the idea of shifting the focus from targeting and killing royals to perhaps a book club or maybe an educational initiative about the health benefits of cleanliness. But, nope, just another two hours of “off with their heads”.
